"I had a farm in Africa" - perhaps, one of the things i miss most is beauty. i know that i glamorize it a bit, that i remember the good and forget the bad, but is that so wrong? is it so wrong to remember the greens and blues and grays of the rainy season? to remember the thatched grass huts build up in a circle, or the people living within. i can hear the rain as it falls through the sky and i know that somewhere a boy is hurrying to drive the cattle home or at least under one of the far reaching trees on the plains. at home, people have taken shelter under the overhangs of their houses, or are gathered together, eating lunch as a family in a hut that's open to the air and cool breeze that accompany the rains. they eat together the maize and beans and leafy greens which they themselves have grown. their own hands planted the seeds a season ago. they dug the field and tended to it, going out every morning and evening, because their very lives depend on it. they lift their heads to the heavens, knowing they can only do so much. if these rains weren't here, the food and life wouldn't be either. life isn't guaranteed. at times even, life relies on the lifeless, and all too often, life becomes that which it relies upon. there's a celebration then, under that open hut, a celebration of family and work and rain and of life itself. "When the gods are angry with us, they answer our prayers," and the comfort and security and life that we think will make us so much happier break us from the bond of celebration that accompanies a simple meal of beans and maize. thunder cracks over head, a dirt floor turns to slick mud under bare feet.
Some may say I was a precocious child. Others may say my development resembled a plot from an episode of the 1990's hit series "Full House" (Honestly I don't know what this means except that it may mean I have a fetish for being freakishly neat and/or have at one time wanted to save a horse by bringing it to my house. Both of these are inaccurate though). While still others may say I am simply a finite being inhabiting a place in the space-time continuum. These people are all off-base. I love Christ, I enjoy cereal beyond what is normally considered acceptable, and there's a part of me that thinks the book "The Old Man and The Sea" may turn out to be a biography about my life (minus the whole fishing aspect, and the sailing too as my past has shown that sailing is not my forte).